A large knot tied itself in the pit of the satyress's stomach as she listened to the lackeys' conversation and the mental discourse with her friends. The loss of Aldegard and Katherine was heartbreaking and numbing simultaneously. Given Rendell's weird relationship with her, she wondered if she was the pawn for Rendell, and why? If the Squids were all vying for dominance, Chambers obviously already knew. As for the turrets, they were positioned in a convenient place to strike at the back of the house. Was that the plan, to drive the heroes out?
Aspasia sent to her comrades, "I know it's difficult to handle right now, but we must focus. We could capture them for questioning, but they probably have kill swiches in case they divulge too much. They don't know anything for certain, and I am hearing a lot of speculation from them. The position of the turret is pointed toward the path, so we have to be careful about being seen on it and accidentally hitting civilians. I'm seeing two soldiers guarding a ruggedized laptop on top of an ammo crate, across from the path. Swinburne is wanting to shake us up, so they may be targeting your HQ. I could move in and take them out, but they might be able to give us info, if Swinburne doesn't kill them from a distance. There's also consideration of we're doing exactly what Swinburne want us to do, even if they're dealing with mundanes. What's more important here? We're facing a case of damned if we do, and damned if we don't."
Chapter V - Brimstone
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Three's quiet and seething anger was palpable. "Then let's damn ourselves, already," he groused, giving off a sense of movement before disappearing from the telepathic network. A sense of alarm radiated from Archie, but he didn't verbalize it. He gave off the impression of being in the solarium, looking outwards through the window panes in the direction he could feel the other two currently were. He couldn't see Drake or Aspasia, but his concern was fairly obvious.
A few seconds passed, and a sudden scream was followed by the sound of a broken engine struggling to start. A short salvo from Drake's own turret was heard, followed by one of the goons yelling "CONTACT!". Aspasia would hear a brief spurt of gunfire, followed by a loud grunt - then a scream. Not Aidan's, thankfully.
Three then reopened the connection between himself and the Fauness. "Call the others for backup," he seethed. "Get them to leave their point. Do it, and maybe I'll let Rothchild fix you like he did your friend. Call reinforcements over, and I'm slitting your fucking throat right here and now.
- Do you think Swinburne about us, you moron?!" spat the remaining soldiers. "We won't confess, we can't go back to Bright Forest in defeat - what do you think our options are?! We're nothing!"
Three's anger was white-hot and focused, along the telepathic link. "Call the other two off their point. Now. I'm doing you a favor, my friend's going to have to deal with vat-grown soldiers with their backs turned. That opens her up to be merciful."
The soldier nervously chuckled. "You're obviously pissed off, why do you care so much?"
Drake seethed. "Who says I care?" he asked, his telepathic link carrying the idea of him pressing one of Aspasia's knife deeper in the base of the vat-grown soldier's throat, causing a small red line to ooze forth. "You're not the first mook I've coerced. One last time, Einstein: call them off."
She'd feel the grunt give in, and would hear what Three heard. The goon clicked his neck-mounted radio on and spoke up. "Asset Team Two, the Tower's compromised us. What's your sit-rep with the Rook? Requesting backup, over."
The radio clicked back a few seconds later. "Team One - zero visual on Rook, over. Still sweeping."
A few seconds passed, and a sudden scream was followed by the sound of a broken engine struggling to start. A short salvo from Drake's own turret was heard, followed by one of the goons yelling "CONTACT!". Aspasia would hear a brief spurt of gunfire, followed by a loud grunt - then a scream. Not Aidan's, thankfully.
Three then reopened the connection between himself and the Fauness. "Call the others for backup," he seethed. "Get them to leave their point. Do it, and maybe I'll let Rothchild fix you like he did your friend. Call reinforcements over, and I'm slitting your fucking throat right here and now.
- Do you think Swinburne about us, you moron?!" spat the remaining soldiers. "We won't confess, we can't go back to Bright Forest in defeat - what do you think our options are?! We're nothing!"
Three's anger was white-hot and focused, along the telepathic link. "Call the other two off their point. Now. I'm doing you a favor, my friend's going to have to deal with vat-grown soldiers with their backs turned. That opens her up to be merciful."
The soldier nervously chuckled. "You're obviously pissed off, why do you care so much?"
Drake seethed. "Who says I care?" he asked, his telepathic link carrying the idea of him pressing one of Aspasia's knife deeper in the base of the vat-grown soldier's throat, causing a small red line to ooze forth. "You're not the first mook I've coerced. One last time, Einstein: call them off."
She'd feel the grunt give in, and would hear what Three heard. The goon clicked his neck-mounted radio on and spoke up. "Asset Team Two, the Tower's compromised us. What's your sit-rep with the Rook? Requesting backup, over."
The radio clicked back a few seconds later. "Team One - zero visual on Rook, over. Still sweeping."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
While listening to Drake's conversation with the mook, the fauness had opted to quietly clamber into one of the older trees that had branches that could support her weight. She stealthily ventured up behind the two lackeys and took aim at their heads, granting them each a quick death with her rifle. Given the commonalities in their respective backgrounds, she was reminded too much of it and chose to not let the situation drag out, with her own burning anger at Aldegard and Katherine's deaths. As the soldier had admitted to Three, there would be no confessions from them, so that resolutely secured her decision.
"I took them out," Aspasia somberly responded to the human. "I haven't taken out the turret, given its current direction. I don't want to it accidentally go off, and the laptop might have something on it worth investigating."
"I took them out," Aspasia somberly responded to the human. "I haven't taken out the turret, given its current direction. I don't want to it accidentally go off, and the laptop might have something on it worth investigating."
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
The goon seethed in Three's arms. "You fucking assholes-!
- Right back at'cha," groused Drake. "Nobody's a saint, here. Let SWAT book you and I'll make sure Rothchild gets five minutes in your cell to fix you up. Now, can you disable the other turret?
- JUST KILL ME NOW AND GET IT OVER WITH, YOU PRICK!"
Three's seething tone turned to an aggressive mockery of a soothing tone. "Easy, now - you're within reach of a decade-long stint at Chimera Row, and something like normal life stretching out past it, for good behavior. A name, a career, friends, a family - do you really wanna fuck that up for yourself? If you want to die as Swinburne's freak, go ahead and spaz out. Turn off that other turret, and maybe A4's going to be the lucky guy who'll get to sweep the belle of the ball off her feet in a couple years."
He paused for effect. "You've got a long, hard road ahead - or one heck of a short fall. You choose."
Tension seemed to rise along the link, until Aspasia would finally sense A4's releasing of his own stress. Three took a few steps towards a folding camp chair and allowed his prisoner to sit in it, zip-tying his wrists together behind the chair's back. "The laptop," A4 then added. "It's opened on our networking package. Press the button to signal the all-clear, then disconnect the turret from the mesh. It'll fold up on its own as soon as it loses connection."
A pause.
"Sharpe says to take the USB stick from the back. It's clean. You won't believe me, but it is."
A few moments later, Drake refocused on Aspasia. "Turret's down, Asp. You can probably do the same thing on your end," he said, then focusing on Delmar. "Del, can you tell Loren to reach out to the SWAT teams? We're contained. Ping the vampires too, while you're at it. The coast is clear."
In the physical world, Aspasia would hear the ruined rotors and pivots of Three's turret loudly grind and whir in protest as their damaged mechanisms impeded the shutdown process. Finally, the thing's battery seemed to give up when halfway there. Crunching snow and rustling dead leaves followed, ending with the sight of Drake's head peeking past the closest hillock, looking weary and frustrated.
"You okay?" he verbally called out.
- Right back at'cha," groused Drake. "Nobody's a saint, here. Let SWAT book you and I'll make sure Rothchild gets five minutes in your cell to fix you up. Now, can you disable the other turret?
- JUST KILL ME NOW AND GET IT OVER WITH, YOU PRICK!"
Three's seething tone turned to an aggressive mockery of a soothing tone. "Easy, now - you're within reach of a decade-long stint at Chimera Row, and something like normal life stretching out past it, for good behavior. A name, a career, friends, a family - do you really wanna fuck that up for yourself? If you want to die as Swinburne's freak, go ahead and spaz out. Turn off that other turret, and maybe A4's going to be the lucky guy who'll get to sweep the belle of the ball off her feet in a couple years."
He paused for effect. "You've got a long, hard road ahead - or one heck of a short fall. You choose."
Tension seemed to rise along the link, until Aspasia would finally sense A4's releasing of his own stress. Three took a few steps towards a folding camp chair and allowed his prisoner to sit in it, zip-tying his wrists together behind the chair's back. "The laptop," A4 then added. "It's opened on our networking package. Press the button to signal the all-clear, then disconnect the turret from the mesh. It'll fold up on its own as soon as it loses connection."
A pause.
"Sharpe says to take the USB stick from the back. It's clean. You won't believe me, but it is."
A few moments later, Drake refocused on Aspasia. "Turret's down, Asp. You can probably do the same thing on your end," he said, then focusing on Delmar. "Del, can you tell Loren to reach out to the SWAT teams? We're contained. Ping the vampires too, while you're at it. The coast is clear."
In the physical world, Aspasia would hear the ruined rotors and pivots of Three's turret loudly grind and whir in protest as their damaged mechanisms impeded the shutdown process. Finally, the thing's battery seemed to give up when halfway there. Crunching snow and rustling dead leaves followed, ending with the sight of Drake's head peeking past the closest hillock, looking weary and frustrated.
"You okay?" he verbally called out.
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Having followed A4's directions, the turret was disconnected and returned to its inert state. Since she had been closer to the laptop, Aspasia removed the flash drive from the back and and closed the laptop, making sure to not leave any fingerprints for when it would be examined later.
She turned toward the hillock as she heard Drake approaching. "I'm good as I can be, considering the circumstances," the super soldier expressed tiredly, sighing sadly. Her amber eyes drifted to the two corpses. "These assholes are what me and my siblings were 50 years ago. United in whatever deranged goal laid out by whoever's calling the shots and pulled about like puppets."
"I might've been able to negotiate with them, but I doubt it was in the cards. Even if they were uncertain in why they were doing what they were, they were intent on causing as much mayhem as possible for us. I can't say for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if the men they were comprised of were of similar backgrounds-assassins, mercenaries, that type of ilk. It'd make them more pliable than if they were just a random John Doe who hadn't been hardened by that type of life."
The fauness handed the USB stick to the young human. "One thing is for certain, though. The Squids are even more in the thick of Brightest Summer than Sharpe realizes; not to mention, these goons knew that Chambers knows what Swinburne and Arkham are up to. And all of these machinations are being pushed by a select few, from what I can understand,"
She turned toward the hillock as she heard Drake approaching. "I'm good as I can be, considering the circumstances," the super soldier expressed tiredly, sighing sadly. Her amber eyes drifted to the two corpses. "These assholes are what me and my siblings were 50 years ago. United in whatever deranged goal laid out by whoever's calling the shots and pulled about like puppets."
"I might've been able to negotiate with them, but I doubt it was in the cards. Even if they were uncertain in why they were doing what they were, they were intent on causing as much mayhem as possible for us. I can't say for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if the men they were comprised of were of similar backgrounds-assassins, mercenaries, that type of ilk. It'd make them more pliable than if they were just a random John Doe who hadn't been hardened by that type of life."
The fauness handed the USB stick to the young human. "One thing is for certain, though. The Squids are even more in the thick of Brightest Summer than Sharpe realizes; not to mention, these goons knew that Chambers knows what Swinburne and Arkham are up to. And all of these machinations are being pushed by a select few, from what I can understand,"
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
"I'm thinking they've also won the Optogenetics lottery," he added, referring to the means used to saturate the Transgenics' minds with the skills and abilities dictated as necessary by Elysium. "Genetic memory could be useful if you consider things like immune resistance, but you can't expect a dozen genetic sources to play nicely together. I'm thinking Swinburne or someone working for him found a way to work around blood type as a limitation. Either that or the Loyalists can just Black Speech incompatible gobbets of flesh into working together more efficiently than before. A4 and his buddies make George Gammell and the Prometheans look like amateur work."
He sighed as they walked back towards the mansion. "Which means the Loyalists are learning from the Gentlemen and the White Brotherhood as much as the opposite. We never did discuss Meris and Nereus' observable losses in the early days, if any contacts were captured or tortured..."
Lucian stepped forward, greeting them on the rear porch. "Of course there were losses. No war is without casualties. I've lost men and women in the family, even had to kill predecessors of Astra's that I considered as my sons and daughters. The White Brotherhood stopped reporting to me regularly once they changed names, but I caught wind of their losses fairly frequently. We extracted knowledge, the Loyalists took it from us. We retaliated, they'd push back. Only now, it seems, technology seems to push things towards a stalemate. Both the family and the Gentlemen's crucial data remains offline, and security measures have been heightened commensurately. We've never been slouches, but have reached a point where the telekinetic manipulation of lockpicks and the rending of innocent minds does neither side any favors."
Eir stepped forward. "Speaking of innocent minds - we've still got a bunch of unconscious goons in here, plus a healthy amount of bullet holes in the walls."
Grunting slightly, Lucian gestured at the dogpile of limbs at the end of the West wing's main corridor, briefly aligning the interior of one of the paddywagons with the corridor's limit. A careful pushing gesture saw them be inched inside the van's seating space, a few finally stirring awake in the process. Weapons and ammo had stayed behind, so all that remained of them was a now tightly-guarded black van filled with the sounds of irate prisoners banging on the walls. Smaller rifts in the Real took the bullet holes Lucian managed to spot after a cursory visual sweep, the immediate past's unbroken paisley patterns and wainscoted walls restored to the present.
"I might have missed a few," he admitted, tossing his shoulders. Archie looked on and briefly smirked. "Well, I certainly shan't complain! There is another innocent mind we should address in the immediate future, however... One Deirdre Owens."
Eir nodded. "I'd like to know if she told anything to Sharpe or Swinburne. I'd leave that to me, honestly. I can put her under Oath and have her divulge whatever it is she knows."
Cops began to file in, along with technicians and other staff resources. Tom's replacement in the HPD looked a little on the old and dumpy side, and wasn't too keen on seeing the local vigilantes mop up evidence, as Lucian had done. The aging African American man gave the group a surly look and went about mapping what could still be mapped, Tom choosing to give his comrade a wide berth in the process. If he had any reservations about the forms of evidence-collecting used on the arcane level, he was polite enough to avoid grousing about it in front of a professional. At best, when the old man complained about the "too perfect" join of one of the bullet holes and its "anomalous" arcane fingerprint, he sent Aislinn a fairly telling look. The mansion grounds had been the sight of a brawl; it made complete sense for arcane elements to be inconvenient! Opponents wouldn't just magically know how and when to place themselves for the analyst's benefit now, would they?
He settled with a pointed cough. "If you want, I can make more bullet holes appear elsewhere. Maybe soak a few random wall sconces with Hellfire, leave a few Infernal claw marks here and there, if you're looking for extra work...
- Bite me, Porky Pig," snarked the technician. "I'm not going to let the local mystery man give me the old razzle-dazzle."
Tom snorted at that. "Sorry, I left my boater's hat and reed cane at home. I could ask Amazo, if you'd prefer - or Michigan J. Frog."
Shaking his head, the techie wandered off as he muttered something about impending retirement. Seeing that, Drake frowned slightly. "Was Quint more popular in the old days?
- He wasn't much of an ass, initially," shrugged Magnus. "It's just - you know, the classic case of a guy who has some talent, but who thinks he's got all of it. The better he got, the worse he became. Of course, the less human he was, especially near the end of his career."
He sighed as they walked back towards the mansion. "Which means the Loyalists are learning from the Gentlemen and the White Brotherhood as much as the opposite. We never did discuss Meris and Nereus' observable losses in the early days, if any contacts were captured or tortured..."
Lucian stepped forward, greeting them on the rear porch. "Of course there were losses. No war is without casualties. I've lost men and women in the family, even had to kill predecessors of Astra's that I considered as my sons and daughters. The White Brotherhood stopped reporting to me regularly once they changed names, but I caught wind of their losses fairly frequently. We extracted knowledge, the Loyalists took it from us. We retaliated, they'd push back. Only now, it seems, technology seems to push things towards a stalemate. Both the family and the Gentlemen's crucial data remains offline, and security measures have been heightened commensurately. We've never been slouches, but have reached a point where the telekinetic manipulation of lockpicks and the rending of innocent minds does neither side any favors."
Eir stepped forward. "Speaking of innocent minds - we've still got a bunch of unconscious goons in here, plus a healthy amount of bullet holes in the walls."
Grunting slightly, Lucian gestured at the dogpile of limbs at the end of the West wing's main corridor, briefly aligning the interior of one of the paddywagons with the corridor's limit. A careful pushing gesture saw them be inched inside the van's seating space, a few finally stirring awake in the process. Weapons and ammo had stayed behind, so all that remained of them was a now tightly-guarded black van filled with the sounds of irate prisoners banging on the walls. Smaller rifts in the Real took the bullet holes Lucian managed to spot after a cursory visual sweep, the immediate past's unbroken paisley patterns and wainscoted walls restored to the present.
"I might have missed a few," he admitted, tossing his shoulders. Archie looked on and briefly smirked. "Well, I certainly shan't complain! There is another innocent mind we should address in the immediate future, however... One Deirdre Owens."
Eir nodded. "I'd like to know if she told anything to Sharpe or Swinburne. I'd leave that to me, honestly. I can put her under Oath and have her divulge whatever it is she knows."
Cops began to file in, along with technicians and other staff resources. Tom's replacement in the HPD looked a little on the old and dumpy side, and wasn't too keen on seeing the local vigilantes mop up evidence, as Lucian had done. The aging African American man gave the group a surly look and went about mapping what could still be mapped, Tom choosing to give his comrade a wide berth in the process. If he had any reservations about the forms of evidence-collecting used on the arcane level, he was polite enough to avoid grousing about it in front of a professional. At best, when the old man complained about the "too perfect" join of one of the bullet holes and its "anomalous" arcane fingerprint, he sent Aislinn a fairly telling look. The mansion grounds had been the sight of a brawl; it made complete sense for arcane elements to be inconvenient! Opponents wouldn't just magically know how and when to place themselves for the analyst's benefit now, would they?
He settled with a pointed cough. "If you want, I can make more bullet holes appear elsewhere. Maybe soak a few random wall sconces with Hellfire, leave a few Infernal claw marks here and there, if you're looking for extra work...
- Bite me, Porky Pig," snarked the technician. "I'm not going to let the local mystery man give me the old razzle-dazzle."
Tom snorted at that. "Sorry, I left my boater's hat and reed cane at home. I could ask Amazo, if you'd prefer - or Michigan J. Frog."
Shaking his head, the techie wandered off as he muttered something about impending retirement. Seeing that, Drake frowned slightly. "Was Quint more popular in the old days?
- He wasn't much of an ass, initially," shrugged Magnus. "It's just - you know, the classic case of a guy who has some talent, but who thinks he's got all of it. The better he got, the worse he became. Of course, the less human he was, especially near the end of his career."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Aislinn rolled her eyes. "Supernatural factors aside, sounds like Quint could've been like anybody else who gets a big head and thinks they're better than everybody else," she commented. "Bloated egos are a thing that crosses all realms, after all."
Eyeing the rest of the group, Aspasia frowned thoughtfully. "Aside from the police, what do we do now? I'm curious as to why Sharpe would want us to take a clean USB drive and what would be on it. Also, it's not going to be long until the incursion starts up," she noted.
The satyress' comment jogged the tattooist's memory, and she widened her eyes in realization. "Oh, shit! Gubbin's still locked in his room and is still under the effects of the drug!" she blurted out to Tom and Three. Aislinn hurried out of the room and headed upstairs to the Malk's bedroom. Given that she didn't have the key with her, she had to use her telekinesis to tweak the lock's inner mechanisms until she heard the right clicking sound. "Gubbin!" she cried as she opened the door and went into the room.
Eyeing the rest of the group, Aspasia frowned thoughtfully. "Aside from the police, what do we do now? I'm curious as to why Sharpe would want us to take a clean USB drive and what would be on it. Also, it's not going to be long until the incursion starts up," she noted.
The satyress' comment jogged the tattooist's memory, and she widened her eyes in realization. "Oh, shit! Gubbin's still locked in his room and is still under the effects of the drug!" she blurted out to Tom and Three. Aislinn hurried out of the room and headed upstairs to the Malk's bedroom. Given that she didn't have the key with her, she had to use her telekinesis to tweak the lock's inner mechanisms until she heard the right clicking sound. "Gubbin!" she cried as she opened the door and went into the room.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Aislinn would be treated to the sight of the big cat lounging on the bed Tom had once occupied. He perked his dark and red-tipped ears at her approach and managed a long, feline yawn. "Madam," he said, his tone perhaps just a tad more frosty than usual, before hopping down from the bed and shifting to his human form.
"You needn't worry," he said, "the interloper's poison was no Bane, and nothing that a forced period of rest could not dispel. I could do scarcely little as you battled with the enemy, but I suspect the mansion now has great need of me."
Arthur, who'd followed along with the others, was a bit less dismissive. "The Goat isn't likely to raise a fuss over someone else's misplaced armor pads and shell casings. What matters most is our shutting this place down and dispersing. You can't afford to be grouped in one spot once the incursion begins."
His brother seemed unconvinced. "What need would they have of my home, when the Tree and their master's new seat of power are what will matter most?
- That's exactly the point," replied Tom. "Holden Hall might mean a lot to you, it means nothing to the Black Goat. We can bolster our defenses and make sure we'll at least have something like a base to return to, or we can give our enemies a handy spot to concentrate their attacks on. Knowing which one you'd like, I started working on a little something-something from Day One..."
Gubbin arched an eyebrow. "All those late-night snacks...
- Needed pick-me-ups after two hours spent working on my best attempt at conventional wards, for each and every night I slept here. I snuck outside in my pajamas and slippers and canvassed the outer fence bit by bit, trying to sneak past Sophia's awareness of the local grid to set up a comprehensive two-step shielding spell. A lightning bolt fired at the front gates should prime it, and I buried one of Quint's old playthings right next to the main entrance's gravel path. It's a Hellfire-focusing marble orb - something that's close to a real-world Palantir. It'll coat the shield in flames once keyed off and at least seriously delay the Pit's battering rams."
Archie briefly looked incensed. "I thought you'd restituted most of that buffoon's stolen goods, Tom! For shame!"
The warthog shrugged and clicked his tongue. "I couldn't give back what I knew could save lives - not in good conscience. The Eye of Irkutsk isn't made to sit in a glass case in the Trismegistus Institute's display hallways, and it isn't made for careless Guildmates to peer into. It's the sort of stuff that turned Siberia's Warlocks mad with power, to the point where I didn't so much as trust myself with its active use as a scrying device. Burying it and leeching off its power is as much of a sensible use for its potency that I can think of. As to why I didn't tell you before - secrets save lives. The Goat could've picked up on it during his stay here, if I'd been more forthcoming."
Heavy footfalls came up the stairs, and Harry Benson's tall and Sasquatch-worthy frame came into view, clad in the same extraneously fine Business Casual combo. "Sorry fellas," he said, "I figured you'd want someone who's in on some of it all to take your despositions. I can also either drive some of you back to the courthouse or just wait for y'all downstairs. We could always watch the conclusion live."
In the meantime, Lucian had removed his overcoat and flat cap, casually hooking them on his folded arm, his cane's cleaned handle resting on it as well. He discreetly approached Meris.
"I know time seems short," he told her, "but I need but a moment to introduce you to our strongest ally. As I've explained back at the hotel, you crossing the Threshold and returning would only take but a moment in our time-frame. The Architect and His clerics might need small eternities to tutor you, but our friends will not have reached the living room's television that your spirit will have returned."
"You needn't worry," he said, "the interloper's poison was no Bane, and nothing that a forced period of rest could not dispel. I could do scarcely little as you battled with the enemy, but I suspect the mansion now has great need of me."
Arthur, who'd followed along with the others, was a bit less dismissive. "The Goat isn't likely to raise a fuss over someone else's misplaced armor pads and shell casings. What matters most is our shutting this place down and dispersing. You can't afford to be grouped in one spot once the incursion begins."
His brother seemed unconvinced. "What need would they have of my home, when the Tree and their master's new seat of power are what will matter most?
- That's exactly the point," replied Tom. "Holden Hall might mean a lot to you, it means nothing to the Black Goat. We can bolster our defenses and make sure we'll at least have something like a base to return to, or we can give our enemies a handy spot to concentrate their attacks on. Knowing which one you'd like, I started working on a little something-something from Day One..."
Gubbin arched an eyebrow. "All those late-night snacks...
- Needed pick-me-ups after two hours spent working on my best attempt at conventional wards, for each and every night I slept here. I snuck outside in my pajamas and slippers and canvassed the outer fence bit by bit, trying to sneak past Sophia's awareness of the local grid to set up a comprehensive two-step shielding spell. A lightning bolt fired at the front gates should prime it, and I buried one of Quint's old playthings right next to the main entrance's gravel path. It's a Hellfire-focusing marble orb - something that's close to a real-world Palantir. It'll coat the shield in flames once keyed off and at least seriously delay the Pit's battering rams."
Archie briefly looked incensed. "I thought you'd restituted most of that buffoon's stolen goods, Tom! For shame!"
The warthog shrugged and clicked his tongue. "I couldn't give back what I knew could save lives - not in good conscience. The Eye of Irkutsk isn't made to sit in a glass case in the Trismegistus Institute's display hallways, and it isn't made for careless Guildmates to peer into. It's the sort of stuff that turned Siberia's Warlocks mad with power, to the point where I didn't so much as trust myself with its active use as a scrying device. Burying it and leeching off its power is as much of a sensible use for its potency that I can think of. As to why I didn't tell you before - secrets save lives. The Goat could've picked up on it during his stay here, if I'd been more forthcoming."
Heavy footfalls came up the stairs, and Harry Benson's tall and Sasquatch-worthy frame came into view, clad in the same extraneously fine Business Casual combo. "Sorry fellas," he said, "I figured you'd want someone who's in on some of it all to take your despositions. I can also either drive some of you back to the courthouse or just wait for y'all downstairs. We could always watch the conclusion live."
In the meantime, Lucian had removed his overcoat and flat cap, casually hooking them on his folded arm, his cane's cleaned handle resting on it as well. He discreetly approached Meris.
"I know time seems short," he told her, "but I need but a moment to introduce you to our strongest ally. As I've explained back at the hotel, you crossing the Threshold and returning would only take but a moment in our time-frame. The Architect and His clerics might need small eternities to tutor you, but our friends will not have reached the living room's television that your spirit will have returned."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Aislinn shrugged and frowned in distaste. "We could go, but the whole thing's a foregone conclusion," she admitted to Benson. "The Goat's still going to be a smug bastard once the verdict's read; I don't necessarily want to see that in person. Now that the time's drawing to a close, I'd rather use every second to gather what we can and fight. I don't think there's going to be much we can do at the courthouse, other than being there for Ephesian as long as he's still in control of the body."
Neasa, Ciaran, and Aspasia had followed their friends upstairs and listened in as the bugbear was prepared to make their depositions.
Meris drew closer to her friend and cast a brief look at the assembly before nodding to the Void Weaver. "Please do, Lucian. Even it only takes a few seconds here, I want to be ready for what's to come; I need to be able to aid in defending this city in whatever way that I can," she whispered determinedly to him.
Neasa, Ciaran, and Aspasia had followed their friends upstairs and listened in as the bugbear was prepared to make their depositions.
Meris drew closer to her friend and cast a brief look at the assembly before nodding to the Void Weaver. "Please do, Lucian. Even it only takes a few seconds here, I want to be ready for what's to come; I need to be able to aid in defending this city in whatever way that I can," she whispered determinedly to him.
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IamLEAM1983
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- Location: Quebec, Canada
Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Lucian nodded and looked about, then glancing past Benson at the front lobby's sparse seating arrangements. "Let's just-" he started, finishing his gesture with a discreet pointing gesture. In the meantime, the rest of the group debated Aislinn's offered point. She was right, but Drake and Archie weren't comfortable with leaving the jury members to their devices. They didn't know how destructive the Black Goat wished his first grand entrance to be. Arthur admitted he had half a mind to use ten or twenty of his comrades to whisk jurors away at the judge's final word, procedures and the media be damned.
Still, Lucian did his best to evacuate the proceedings from his mind. He allowed Meris to sit down and then offered her one of his signature kindly smiles.
"You'll be fine," he reassured her. "Just try and stay focused."
He then sat down next to her, pressing his right hand against her left cheek like a caring relative might. The touch lingered as his hand and fingers went up, his thumb resting in-between her eyes. There was a surge of power along the finger, the skin between her eyebrows tingling - and then she fell.
Meris fell upwards, out of her own body, in so sudden and violent a motion she'd need more than a moment to realize she'd gone astral. Not only this, but her astral body felt corporeal, as she'd swear Holden Hall's ceiling felt real as she smacked into it at unimaginable speeds, like a bullet tearing through drywall. She was falling towards the sky, the sun's weak orb growing brighter by the second, and the distant plane of the surface curved around her like a fish-eye lens' distorting effect. Contrary to all her previous astral voyages, all this felt achingly real to her senses, a kind of gut-wrenching and irrational fear more than likely rising. Out of the snowfall, a single snowflake then drifted into view, growing larger as Meris herself seemed to grow smaller. With another lurching sensation, her course took a dizzying and impossible turn as Hope's seasonal lights exploded into kaleidoscopic details around her, dancing along the Mandelbrot pattern of the ever-expanding fractal surface. Soon, the entire universe seemed to be made of facets of ice in infinite permutations - perfectly geometric and orderly, and yet utterly indescribable. With another lurch, she barreled through a pane of ice-formed glass, now the size of an atom in the massive cathedral of ice of a single water molecule. The shards flew away, each of them showing a different her, from different periods of her life. Meris the innocent child, Meris the burgeoning practitioner, fear and responsibility making her eyes appear limpid, Meris the slave at her most wretched, and Meris the concubine and healer. Meris the contented lover, from a future not yet written...
Lucian's voice rose in the void, even as she kept sailing through the ice, growing so small its cold did not touch her.
"What is real, Meris? The word means many different things to physicians, practitioners, physicists or philosophers. Is the Real what your senses send to your mind in the form of electrical impulses? Is it bound to observable laws? If so, one could argue we practitioners perceive the Real differently from a mundane. Is the simple act of perception truly trustworthy, when we know how many drugs and implements may alter it, how my own people break its mechanisms down in the creation of our most obedient slaves? You, who are a Cantor, present the Real as a demesne where mind and matter meet - where your desires become song and where song bolsters ailing limbs and organs. Out of nothing, you create health and wellness - even as my people create beings out of whole cloth. Both things are observable. Both are of the Real. Our simulation is no mere simulacra - it presents states of matter and antimatter in ways allowing for the emergence of Us."
The molecular glass rearranged around her, forming a beautiful pattern in blue-green hues, the lines of the glass fading away as she briefly floated what looked like several light-years away from the Milky Way, able to encompass its spiral design in the entirety of her field of view.
"These states allow for sights of such cosmic beauty so as to force grown women and men to their knees..."
The glass shattered, the Milky Way turning into a nebula floating in a cloud of reddish gases, its pillars of gas cold, dying star-stuff leaking outwards - even as its outline took the shape of the main Black Script symbol for Death.
"...and they do nothing to prevent the formation of evil, terrifying places. They grow cracked, warped and distorted - and ancient evils take root. Powers grown restless, desperate and craven - with their eyes on the works of my Maker's charge. They would attack Him, but His works have turned sterile long ago. Life, indeed, its very concept, had exhausted him; the creation and maintenance of aeons have already taken everything he had to offer. Cosmic beings, it seems, can have their hearts broken."
Another shift in the fractals, and she was sailing through what seemed like an infinite cloudscape, pulled forwards and along a narrow strip of azure sky, until an island emerged out of the curve of a plump bank of cumulus clouds. An island, or a sculpture. A towering man in regal robes, or a tower. An immense machine, or some sort of palatial residence. As she banked along the structure's perimeter, all responses seemed adequate at the very same time. Some unseen force angled her feet downwards, and she lightly landed on a terraced platform. Whenever the whistling wind around her died down a bit, the orchestrated clatter of what looked like a giant-sized Clank's heart could be heard - each ticking needle and clicking cogwheel sounding distant and immense, somehow enshrouded in the mists of the cloud-plane.
Beyond the terrace waited a entrance to a corridor beyond, something in the shafts of light that could be seen piercing its ornamented walls giving off almost monastic looks. A tall and pale Void Weaver was waiting for her in the archway, clad in finer robes than any Prelate or Augur had ever worn, even if their design seemed strikingly simpler. There was no gold filigree in sight, only faintly iridescent and silvery thread embroidering words that struck her adapted mind differently than the common Black Speech phrases she'd have seen. They all spoke of peace and prosperity, of protection and responsibility, of Order and Balance as things to be cherished.
"Welcome, Queen of Dalarath," he calmly stated, nodding as he came forth. "I am Elder Dalar, First of the Augurs, First-Made of the Architect, and his Chamberlain. For my service, I was permitted to spend my afterlife here, at my creator's bedside."
Still, Lucian did his best to evacuate the proceedings from his mind. He allowed Meris to sit down and then offered her one of his signature kindly smiles.
"You'll be fine," he reassured her. "Just try and stay focused."
He then sat down next to her, pressing his right hand against her left cheek like a caring relative might. The touch lingered as his hand and fingers went up, his thumb resting in-between her eyes. There was a surge of power along the finger, the skin between her eyebrows tingling - and then she fell.
Meris fell upwards, out of her own body, in so sudden and violent a motion she'd need more than a moment to realize she'd gone astral. Not only this, but her astral body felt corporeal, as she'd swear Holden Hall's ceiling felt real as she smacked into it at unimaginable speeds, like a bullet tearing through drywall. She was falling towards the sky, the sun's weak orb growing brighter by the second, and the distant plane of the surface curved around her like a fish-eye lens' distorting effect. Contrary to all her previous astral voyages, all this felt achingly real to her senses, a kind of gut-wrenching and irrational fear more than likely rising. Out of the snowfall, a single snowflake then drifted into view, growing larger as Meris herself seemed to grow smaller. With another lurching sensation, her course took a dizzying and impossible turn as Hope's seasonal lights exploded into kaleidoscopic details around her, dancing along the Mandelbrot pattern of the ever-expanding fractal surface. Soon, the entire universe seemed to be made of facets of ice in infinite permutations - perfectly geometric and orderly, and yet utterly indescribable. With another lurch, she barreled through a pane of ice-formed glass, now the size of an atom in the massive cathedral of ice of a single water molecule. The shards flew away, each of them showing a different her, from different periods of her life. Meris the innocent child, Meris the burgeoning practitioner, fear and responsibility making her eyes appear limpid, Meris the slave at her most wretched, and Meris the concubine and healer. Meris the contented lover, from a future not yet written...
Lucian's voice rose in the void, even as she kept sailing through the ice, growing so small its cold did not touch her.
"What is real, Meris? The word means many different things to physicians, practitioners, physicists or philosophers. Is the Real what your senses send to your mind in the form of electrical impulses? Is it bound to observable laws? If so, one could argue we practitioners perceive the Real differently from a mundane. Is the simple act of perception truly trustworthy, when we know how many drugs and implements may alter it, how my own people break its mechanisms down in the creation of our most obedient slaves? You, who are a Cantor, present the Real as a demesne where mind and matter meet - where your desires become song and where song bolsters ailing limbs and organs. Out of nothing, you create health and wellness - even as my people create beings out of whole cloth. Both things are observable. Both are of the Real. Our simulation is no mere simulacra - it presents states of matter and antimatter in ways allowing for the emergence of Us."
The molecular glass rearranged around her, forming a beautiful pattern in blue-green hues, the lines of the glass fading away as she briefly floated what looked like several light-years away from the Milky Way, able to encompass its spiral design in the entirety of her field of view.
"These states allow for sights of such cosmic beauty so as to force grown women and men to their knees..."
The glass shattered, the Milky Way turning into a nebula floating in a cloud of reddish gases, its pillars of gas cold, dying star-stuff leaking outwards - even as its outline took the shape of the main Black Script symbol for Death.
"...and they do nothing to prevent the formation of evil, terrifying places. They grow cracked, warped and distorted - and ancient evils take root. Powers grown restless, desperate and craven - with their eyes on the works of my Maker's charge. They would attack Him, but His works have turned sterile long ago. Life, indeed, its very concept, had exhausted him; the creation and maintenance of aeons have already taken everything he had to offer. Cosmic beings, it seems, can have their hearts broken."
Another shift in the fractals, and she was sailing through what seemed like an infinite cloudscape, pulled forwards and along a narrow strip of azure sky, until an island emerged out of the curve of a plump bank of cumulus clouds. An island, or a sculpture. A towering man in regal robes, or a tower. An immense machine, or some sort of palatial residence. As she banked along the structure's perimeter, all responses seemed adequate at the very same time. Some unseen force angled her feet downwards, and she lightly landed on a terraced platform. Whenever the whistling wind around her died down a bit, the orchestrated clatter of what looked like a giant-sized Clank's heart could be heard - each ticking needle and clicking cogwheel sounding distant and immense, somehow enshrouded in the mists of the cloud-plane.
Beyond the terrace waited a entrance to a corridor beyond, something in the shafts of light that could be seen piercing its ornamented walls giving off almost monastic looks. A tall and pale Void Weaver was waiting for her in the archway, clad in finer robes than any Prelate or Augur had ever worn, even if their design seemed strikingly simpler. There was no gold filigree in sight, only faintly iridescent and silvery thread embroidering words that struck her adapted mind differently than the common Black Speech phrases she'd have seen. They all spoke of peace and prosperity, of protection and responsibility, of Order and Balance as things to be cherished.
"Welcome, Queen of Dalarath," he calmly stated, nodding as he came forth. "I am Elder Dalar, First of the Augurs, First-Made of the Architect, and his Chamberlain. For my service, I was permitted to spend my afterlife here, at my creator's bedside."